The Case of the Nutshell Murders
by sword-maiden-of-lorien
Summary: When perplexed forensics professor Adelaide Harper from Rodentia University seeks out Basil's advice, the detective soon discovers that what seems to be a simple case of coincidence is a far more complicated and dangerous puzzle to unravel.
1. Chapter 1: The Note

_Disclaimer: I do not own Basil of Baker Street, or Dr. Dawson. They are all properties of Disney. Nor do I own "Basil of Baker Street", which is a creation of Eve Titus. The name "Sherringford Basil" I am borrowing after I stumbled upon Diane N. Tran's website. I do own the few original characters I have added to this little story of mine._

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For someone who placed as much distrust in women as did Sherringford Basil, it is perhaps an ironic coincidence that in the sixty odd cases in which I have observed my friend's methods over the last ten years, that nearly half of them were brought to his attention by women. Some were dark. Some were fantastic. Many presented elements of danger. Yet none were commonplace, as my friend, who worked for the love of the art rather than out of desire to accumulate wealth and recognition, refused to accept any case that did not have a singular point of interest.

I suppose it is safe to say that women were common harbingers of grief and gloom to our residence at Baker Street, although I would be lying if I said that my friend did not take pleasure in their presence as well as, in many cases, their attractiveness. Despite his voluntary aversion to and general distrust of womenfolk, my friend does enjoy their company, even if it was only for the sake of solving the problems they brought to him. Yet out of all the cases, none were as unusual as the one associated with one Adelaide Harper. The events occurred during the fifth year of my association with Basil, although an oath of secrecy was made at the time, from which the lady has reluctantly freed me only in the past month. I understand Miss Harper's hesitance in the matter, for through the years in which Basil and I have known her, I find her to be a most reserved individual. Yet it is perhaps for the best that the true facts be finally put to light, for I have reason to know that there are rumours surrounding the events which may serve to tarnish the lady's reputation.

It was in late September of '02 that I found my friend by the window of the parlour in the early morning hours, a sombre expression on his face as he played his precious violin, which he had painstakingly repaired since its unfortunate accident from five years before. As he was a late riser by nature, I made to question him about his reason for being up at such an early hour. In the end, however, I refrained from doing so and kept my curiosity to myself. It had been uneventful at Baker Street for the last two weeks. Basil had been silent through it all, restlessly scouring the papers for potential cases, until finally, apparently having given up on his search, succumbed to the present dismal mood I found him in. I glanced over at the table. It was still too early for Mrs. Judson to bring breakfast, although there was one crumpled note, its shadow dancing on the white cloth as the cheery fire blazed warmly from the hearth. The concise note was written with a lead pencil with a clear, cursive hand, and was dated from London on the preceding evening. The note ran thus: --

"Dear Mr. Basil, -- I am a professor of forensic pathology and am in dire need of your insight. I would be very much obliged if you could come to the University. My class ends at half-past one to-morrow, if I do not inconvenience you. -- Yours faithfully,

Professor Harper."

"What do you make of it, Dawson?" The violin music had stopped, and I found my friend now looking at me curiously.

"Really, Basil. There are times when I am certain you have eyes in the back of your head."

"I do have the benefit of a well-washed window, and it is still dim enough outside to provide me with an ample reflection. I ask again, what do you make of it?"

I picked the note back up again and examined it using my friend's methods to the best of my extent. "Obviously the writer is an academic," I began. "The long strokes indicate that the note was written in haste, and his choice of using a pencil indicates an individual with a laid-back and casual approach to his life as well as his profession. The paper is light-weight and absent of the university seal, which suggests an old, established scholar who no longer feels the need to impress others."

"Bravo, my good fellow! Bravo!" cried Basil with an enthusiastic clap of his paws. "I have to say that you have never failed to impress me with the extent of your knowledge and your eagerness to learn. And untruthful would I be if I did not say that I am very much in your debt for all of the assistance your remarkable abilities have provided me over the years."

It was not often that my friend should supply me with such praise. "Thank you, Basil," I answered, feeling the surge of pride slowly building within me.

"...yet I fear that most of your conclusions were erroneous," added Basil in a quiet voice.

Bewildered, I blinked at him.

"The young woman is indeed an academic," my friend continued, his dark mood temporarily lifted as he assumed the part of a lecturer and I the pupil. "Well-versed and extremely private in character."

"_The young woman_?" I asked in surprise.

Basil nodded, and in his green eyes, there was a glimmer of amusement as he observed my surprised reaction to his deduction. "Under other circumstances, I have no doubt that she would have come to see us in-person, which leads me to assume that she is one with an extremely occupied schedule to keep. Furthermore, who else but a woman would take such care in selecting her words, if even for a note as brief as this? Even then, to err on the side of caution, she still chose pencil over pen as her writing instrument. Note the faint traces of previous phrases she has erased with a rubber, Dawson. She is careful and considerate, and most likely wants to take every measure possible to make certain that her request is accepted."

"But how did you ascertain her private nature?"

"You might remember my paper on graphology, Dawson. I do consider myself something of an expert on the subject. Notice the even distribution of weight throughout her writing, the clean breakage between her words. Had one been writing with haste, it is commonplace to see faint lines stringing the words together, for the hurried writer would not take neatness into consideration. The writing would often slant more to the right as well...moreso than the norm. Such signs are absent here, which indicates that she took her time in writing out her little note. The long strokes of her penmanship suggest to me an individual of dependable character, and the closed o's and a's tell of one with a need for privacy. She also writes with a heavy hand, which, in the mind of an experienced graphologist, indicates a very hard-working individual."

"And what about her age? How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"The fact that she has used such a light-weight grade of paper is suggestive of one who still retains the impulsive nature of youth, who have the tendency to act upon a whimsy with very little thought to the consequences that could take place further down the road. It is possible that she chose the paper out of haste, although her penmanship speaks otherwise. No, it is more probable that her selection was made out of habit, and such a cheap grade of paper is commonly used by University students. Dawson, I would not be surprised if she has only found herself within the academic circle for no more than a handful of years."

"Will you be going to see this young lady, then?"

At the question, Basil's face darkened again, and seemingly overtaken by an unexpected wave of weariness, he left his place by the window and went over to sit in his favourite chair by the fire. "Should I?" he asked with a resigned sigh. "Yes, I suppose I should. But is this what it all amounts to? A decade of guarding the secrets of kings and queens, of solving puzzles and mysteries with logic and reasoning for a public that is seemingly lacking in both...all reduced to providing advice for most likely the curricula of fledgling academic professionals? Dawson, my dear friend, I believe that it's finally happened! This note marks the day when my illustrious little consulting practise has crumbled and veered toward the trivial and mundane!"

"Oh no, no, no, Basil," I protested as I went over to take a seat in the chair opposite of his, taken aback by his dismal approach to the whole situation. "Surely it cannot be as bad as all that--"

"Then again, I suppose this development was inevitable," he continued, although he seemed completely lost in his melancholy musings now. "After all, you do have the tendency to focus on the fantastic in your writings rather than the actual facts and logic that are the driving force behind the cases."

"I would think that I have done the cases justice in my records," I replied curtly, mildly annoyed and wounded by his criticism.

"You do have a good eye for selecting cases that are most singular in their features, but I fear now that the public believes they are merely reading a typical detective narrative, a short crime story to indulge their imaginations. And what is the outcome of that?" He waved his paw at the crumpled bit of note on the table, indicating and dismissing its presence in his one movement. "Triviality begets triviality, Dawson."

"Really now, Basil. You've gone too far. This note might be of more importance than you think. Remember how the problem connected with Olivia Flaversham, which seemed to be a simple missing persons case, developed into one of your greatest cases? It might be the same for this case."

"You might be right, Dawson," answered Basil half-heartedly. "I suppose we both will find out before dinner this evening."


	2. Chapter 2: The Fledgling Professor

Even though the author of the note had requested that we meet her after her class had come to an end, Basil and I decided to go to the University and listen in on her lecture in its full entirety; although I daresay that we both had different reasons for our unanimous decision. Personally, I believed that if Basil and I were to help the young lady out with her case, it would only be proper to gain a deeper understanding of her craft. On a smaller note, because I too have some knowledge of forensic pathology, it was always pleasant to listen to the teachings of one who has devoted her entire academic career to the subject. As for Basil, his reasons were still a mystery to me, although I believe he arrived at his ultimate decision partly out of simple curiosity. He did not speak a word on our cab ride to the University, although he was the first to speak as we were entering the vast lecture hall with the other students.

"Ah, Hopkirk!" he said cheerily in greeting. "I did not expect to see you here as well."

Percy Hopkirk, a young detective with a sandy-coloured mustache, turned in his seat and smiled at us. He was a devoted student of Basil's and always tried to apply my friend's methods in his investigations, with mixed results. Strangely enough, as opposed to his usual criticism, Basil has been a most patient teacher to the inspector, and has on more than one occasion expressed his firm belief in Hopkirk's potential for success in his career. He eagerly motioned for us to join him, and from the reverent gaze he gave to my friend, it was obvious that the inspector held him in high regards. "It's good to see you, sir," he replied. "And you as well, Dr. Dawson. I have an appointment here with the young lady in question after class is out, but I can see that Adelaide has also gone and requested your audience."

"Do you know the lady?" I asked.

"Yes, and quite well, actually," replied Hopkirk. "I asked for her assistance on a few cases I've worked on in the past."

Basil scoffed at the mouse's remark.

"The cases were quite routine, sir," added Hopkirk quickly as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "and your attentions were occupied elsewhere at the time. Her primary interests are the sciences, although I've found that she does have a knack for analysis and deduction. Her methods are...unique, to say the least. Yet I'm afraid that even the most learned individuals arrive at moments when they find themselves completely baffled, as is the present situation for poor Addie. I was the one who advised her to write to you, actually, for there are several points about her case I think might be of some interest to you."

"What is her case about?" asked Basil.

"I believe it would be better if she told you her tale herself, sir. She's very particular, and I fear I would never hear the end of it if I should leave out any detail she may consider to be of utmost importance."

"I say," I remarked when one of the cleaning staff suddenly appeared through the side-door that led to stage far below, "isn't it a little late to be cleaning? I expect the professor would be arriving at any minute now."

"I don't expect Addie to raise a fuss over something as menial as that," answered Hopkirk.

Basil said nothing, although I noticed how keenly he was watching the worker as he proceeded to clean the stage and podium. For a good while, the three of us watched the worker go about his tasks, although from our seats near the back of the lecture hall, it was difficult to obtain a good view of him. The cleaner was a young, spritely mouse, with pale coloured fur and a limber build. His garments were covered by a long light green dust jacket that went to his ankles, and smartly perched between his ears was a dark brown cap. I took note of the peculiar zeal and energy with which he went about his duties. Periodically, I also noticed how he would dart a glance or two at the present audience, although the students took no heed of him for the most part.

"Mornin' all," he spoke at last in a thick Cockney accent. His voice featured a rather soft undertone, which suggested to me that the lad was in fact quite young indeed. "Right ruddy weather we're havin', ain't it?"

A few of the students looked up from their books, although the majority of them continued to ignore him.

"You lot don't talk much, don't you?" he asked again as he leaned against the handle of his mop. "Got a stick up yer Khyber, do you?"

"You can't talk to us that way!" protested one student angrily, a young mouse primly dressed in a suit of tweed. "You have no right, you ignorant twit! My father works for the Ministry!"

"Oh!" cried the cleaner, unaffected by the reaction his words have garnered. "You were too hoity-toity for the likes of me before. But we're talkin' now, ain't we?"

"You'll have to pardon him, sir," piped up another student. "I suppose for some of us, tempers are running short."

"You see," offered another, "it's a quarter-past eleven and we've been sitting here waiting for class to begin, but our professor has yet to arrive."

The cleaner tilted his head to one side, poised as if in thought as the student spoke. "And when's this class supposed to start?"

"Quarter-past eleven, sir."

"And I s'pose you'd like yer lecture to commence, eh?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very well." Before anyone had the chance to react, he proceeded to take off his work attire with flourish, and, in tossing his disguise aside in a crumpled heap, revealed himself before a speechless audience to be a most neatly dressed young lady. "Let us begin, shall we?" she said cheerily as she took her position behind the podium. "I'm Professor Harper, and I shall be your instructor this term." The collective gasps and whispers of surprise amongst the students expressed the surprise Hopkirk and I felt over this unexpected turn of events.

"There was one element of my disguise that would have readily given me away to the keen observer," she continued. "Could any of you tell me what that was? Anyone?" When no one answered, she stepped out from behind the podium. "My shoes. As you can see, the tailored leather boots I am wearing are quite different from the ones that would be worn by the cleaning staff here; and for good reason at that, for my boots are quite the impractical accessories for a worker whose task involves strenuous physical labour."

The students murmured amongst themselves. Miss Harper only smiled, clearly amused by their reaction. "So the next time you meet a person for the very first time, take a second or two to observe their shoes, for they can tell you so much about their lives and ways."

"How so, Professor?" inquired one of the students.

"Kindly step up to the stage."

Eagerly, the student made his way up onto the stage and stood beside Professor Harper, a broad grin plastered across his youthful face while his instructor took a brief moment studying his shoes. After some time, she tsked softly and shook her head.

"What's wrong?" asked the student worriedly.

"I believe your family has in employment quite the careless servant girl."

"How can you tell?"

"The leather of your shoes features scratch lines that mar what would otherwise be a smooth surface. As the weather has been rather damp as of late, I am therefore concluding that the lines are the result of your servant's attempt at scraping off the mud from your shoes. I remark that she is careless because a careful servant would take care not to scratch the leather of the shoe."

The student only gaped at her in astonishment.

"Yet I'm not here to instruct you on the art of deduction," said the professor as she sent her bewildered student back to his seat. "That is Professor Watkins' speciality, for those of you who are enrolled in his class. My speciality is in forensic pathology, so with your permission, we shall begin today's lesson."

As the lecture commenced, I leaned back in my seat and glanced over at Basil, who had remained silent for all this time. His face was as collected and emotionless as ever; although judging by the way he composed himself, casually leaning back in his chair with his fingertips lightly resting against each other, his full attention focused on the lecture, it was obvious to me that he was favourably impressed by the manner and intellect of our newest client.


	3. Chapter 3: Murders in Miniature

The professor gave the three of us a pleasant smile of welcome as we made our way past the exiting students down to the stage, where the young lady was located. Quickly descending the stage's steps, she went over and greeted Hopkirk first, and from their merry banter, it was obvious that their acquaintance was as close as the inspector claimed it to be. The young lady then gazed over Hopkirk's shoulder to look at Basil and I. "You must be Mr. Basil of Baker Street...and Dr. Dawson, I presume. It was very kind of you to come. I hope you will excuse my troubling you both, but Percy suggested that I write to you for advice. I fear that I have had an unsettling experience, and I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on my situation."

"I would be more than happy to do what I can to assist you, madam," replied Basil.

"Then perhaps we should all go to my office where we can talk in private."

Rodentia University is an institution based in London and is built directly beneath the foundations of the University of London. Established in 1846, it is the largest University in the United Kingdom and features over 150 buildings, each connected by a complex system of interwoven passageways. My attention soon became lost amidst the grandeur and ornate decorum of the place, and was very grateful that Miss Harper had a good sense of direction. I also took the time to observe our client as she led us down the various corridors and passageways, past the glances of the more curious students and faculty. My first impression of the lady had been one of criticism, since from where my companions and I have been sitting in the lecture hall, she had seemed to be a most ordinary and unremarkable individual, whose neat yet plain attire spoke of one who cared not for the comforts of life. Yet after seeing her in close proximity, my second impression of her was one of admiration. Her build was tall and limber, and her charming face was quick and bright. Her eyes were the same rich shade of honey as her fur, and she had the brisk, no-nonsense mannerisms and speech of one who has had to make her own way for much of her life. All previous criticisms forgotten, it occurred to me then that I was in the presence of a young lady with an attraction of the most uncanny sort.

I could see that Basil was also studying Miss Harper, and was looking at her in his typical searching manner as the three of us situated ourselves in her office. "Can I interest you in some refreshments?" she asked us. "I am aware of the hour in which we're meeting."

"Unless either of you object, sirs," replied Hopkirk, "I think it would be best if you told us your situation, Addie."

"I have no objection," answered Basil. "Pray take a seat, madam, and explain everything to us. Take care to include every detail." He watched her take a seat behind her desk before adding suddenly: "By the way, that analysis of your student's shoes was very impressive. It is obvious, Dawson, that this here is a client after our own hearts."

"Thank you, although I am not an expert in the field," replied the lady, smiling timidly. "All that I have learned about your methods I have obtained from reading Dr. Dawson's narratives, all of which I find most interesting and informative."

For a fleeting moment, Basil looked as one who has just had the wind knocked out of him, although I was unable to do naught but chuckle heartily over my friend's expression. Miss Harper and Hopkirk could only stare at the both of us in silent confuddlement, unaware of my friend's earlier criticism of my literary ability. "Indeed," said Basil once he regained his composure, and glanced at me through narrowed eyes. "Wonders will never cease." Leaning back in his chair, he gave the lady his full attention once again. "But let us get to the heart of the matter, shall we? I am at your full disposal, madam."

"I obtained my education and training in forensic pathology from Queen Moustoria I University. Its main building is about a mile south of the heart of Leicester and spans underneath Victoria Park and Wyggeston. It's a small university - certainly nowhere near as large as Rodentia University by far - although it is a renown research facility, a fact I'm certain is not unknown to you. I was offered a scholarship there, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort who would be able to support me, my options were quite limited.

"After the university, I was fortunate enough to be offered a teaching position at Rodentia University, where I was able to use their facilities to further my research. You might have read my paper on the forensic resurrection of a skeleton. That was written during my first year here. I suppose I owe a lot to that paper, for it brought the attention of James Llewellyn in my direction, with whom I had the pleasure of working with on several occasions."

"Inspector James Llewellyn, do you mean?" asked Basil.

"Of Mouseland Yard, yes," said she.

For the sake of propriety, my friend successfully suppressed the wry chortle that I knew was on the verge of surfacing, although there still lingered a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. "Pray continue, madam."

"It was through Inspector Llewellyn that I was introduced to sleuthing. I worked with him on three cases: the murder in New Forest, the Bollinger case in Kensington, and death of Lady Mortimer in Winchester. You are aware of the details of the cases, I presume, Mr. Basil?"

"Quite so, Miss Harper."

"My humble role in the investigations was to examine the bodies of the unfortunate victims, and I made certain that my reports included every last detail, no matter how irrelevant they may initially seem. It was because of this opportunity, sir, that I began my side hobby. Perhaps you might even call it an obsession. I began creating dioramas over the years of similar crimes in order to study the crime scenes in greater detail. Each of them were recreated to the tiniest detail based on the notes I took of each crime scene. Some of them were commissioned to be placed on display in the Rodentia Science Museum, and a good number of them have been used as teaching aids at both the university and Mouseland Yard. Needless to say, I was flattered and honoured that my work was being used as teaching instruments, but as of late, I am quite uneasy of the possibility that my work is being put to ill-use.

"It was Inspector Llewellyn who brought the first case to my attention. It revolved around the singular poisoning of an entire family in Glasgow. You might have heard of it, Mr. Basil. The entire family had been poisoned with sulfur. All had been bound and gagged in the bedroom, although their bodies were apparently moved down to the parlour. That was all that was said in the telegram that Inspector Llewellyn had sent to me. Initially I thought the case would be routine, although I was proven wrong when I arrived at the crime scene. The unfortunate family was found in the parlour, with the elderly gentleman seated in an armchair by the fire, the lady seated by the window with a book resting on her lap, and the two children seated on the floor. Upon closer inspection of the children, however, I found a most unexpected item in the arms of the little girl. It appeared to be a piece from a dollhouse, Mr. Basil. Just a mere fraction."

"Do you have the piece with you, Miss Harper?"

"Yes, sir. It took Inspector Llewellyn much convincing on my part, although in the end, he allowed me to take the piece for closer inspection. Here it is."

After unlocking a drawer on the side of her desk, the young lady placed before us a section that seemed to be a quarter piece from a dollhouse room. The walls joined at the one corner, and were covered in dark green and gold wallpaper. The floor was covered with thin wooden planks, all painstakingly arranged to resemble a wood-paneled floor. Yet the most peculiar piece of the room rested in the presence of one half of an armchair that was placed up against the wall beside what appeared to be the beginnings of a bay window.

"It looks almost like the piece of a puzzle," I remarked, taking note of the clean, scalloped edges where the floor and the wall were cut from the rest of the dollhouse.

"Quite so, Dawson," answered Basil.

"Yes, sir," said Miss Harper, "and I have two other pieces of this particular room."

From the same drawer, the lady produced the two pieces and arranged them beside the first. These two particular pieces fitted together perfectly, leaving a gap in the middle of the room. Once again, the walls were covered in the green and gold wallpaper, and the floors had the same tiny wooden planks. Two bookshelves lined this particular segment of the wall, and the frame of the other side of the bay window could be seen. Yet the most disturbing element of these two pieces rested in the crimson speckles on the floor, which led to the gap that was the missing piece of the room.

"The end piece was discovered by Inspector Llewellyn while he was investigating a murder in Middlesbrough," said the professor. Even though she talked softly in an attempt to steady her voice, I still noticed the slight tremor as she spoke. It was only then that I realised just how frightened our new client must be over these occurrences. "He brought it to my attention, remembering the piece I had discovered in Glasgow. Percy brought the second and final piece to me. He found it at the scene where a vagabond had been murdered in Norwich."

"When Addie told me all that had happened, I told her to contact you at once, Mr. Basil," said Hopkirk before looking at his friend with concern.

The young lady wrung her hands as she looked at us, her face equal parts confusion and fear. "What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Basil?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you at the moment, madam."

"Do you think I'm taking matters too far? It seems so trivial now that I've heard my account with my own ears."

My friend smiled. "It will be a trivial matter only after we have disproved the dangers --"

"Dangers!" exclaimed the young lady, her searching eyes gazing fixedly at my friend. "Of what dangers do you speak of, Mr. Basil?"

"It's far too early for me to say," he said, "and we must not jump to conclusions. Should you ever feel uncertainty or danger, however, you only need to send me a telegram to bring me to your assistance."

"That is very kind of you," said she. "My mind is already at ease."

After a few more grateful words on the lady's part, we went our separate ways, with Miss Harper contenting herself with some student papers while Hopkirk returned to Mouseland Yard. Basil was silent for the entirety of our cab ride, his brow drawn in deep thought, and it was not until we had arrived at Baker Street that he spoke again.

"This case brings with it points of intrigue that will bring life back to our quarters once again, Dawson," said he as he sat down in his chair by the fire. Using a pair of metal tongs, he lifted a glowing ember from the hearth and lit his pipe.

"It seems rather simple to me," I remarked. "She also strikes me as someone who is able to handle herself."

"As she should be," answered Basil in a soft voice. "As she should be. Speaking from experience, Dawson, it is often the simplest cases that are the most challenging to solve. I believe that this will not be the last time we hear from our friend, the good professor."


	4. Chapter 4: A Complicated Game

_**Author's note: **Hey guys! Sorry about being so late in uploading this chapter, although life has been extremely busy lately. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I promise I will get Chapter 5 up and running sooner!_

Nearly a month went by before we saw Miss Harper again, during which I would often find my thoughts wandering back to the strange situation she had found herself in, and of the possible consequences that may await the young lady. Her grisly dioramas, each meticulously constructed from cases she had overseen or documented, and the singular pieces discovered at the scenes of recent murders all hinted at a darker agenda, although the specific association was beyond my powers to discern. As for Basil, the first week he spent in relatively good spirits as he waited for the telegram he was certain would arrive. "Soon, Dawson!" he would say as he cheerfully rubbed his hands together. "It won't be long before the young lady sends out her telegram!" So passed the first week. By the second week, my friend found himself occupied in two cases: one involving the disappearance of Lady Catherine DeWitt's beloved emerald ring, and the other centering around the atrocious doings of Sir Thomas Emerick. Yet despite it all, the singular narrative of Miss Harper never left Basil's mind, and I knew of many nights that week that he would spend sitting by the fire, smoking his pipe in thoughtful silence. By the third week, Basil had taken to restlessly scouring the papers for any possible leads that may give us insight into Miss Harper's current situation, much to Mrs. Judson's chagrin, for our residence at Baker Street soon became littered with cast aside newspapers. Yet his efforts proved to be in vain, and not a bit of news was to be had about Miss Harper's situation.

I found Basil gloomily sitting at the table late one afternoon, a storm brewing on his brow as he tossed aside the paper he had been reading with a frustrated snarl, adding to the steadily growing pile of newspapers in the neighbouring chair. "Nothing!" he cried with a frustrated wave of his arm. "Absolutely nothing! How could Miss Harper expect me to assist her when I have absolutely nothing?"

"Perhaps between her students and her work, she finds little time to send an update," I offered.

"Inconceivable, Dawson. It is in the nature of women to be quite persistent when subjected to distressing situations. They will not cease in their inquiries until they are certain that their problems have been resolved. I'm sure you remember how many telegrams Lady DeWitt had delivered to us before her ring was found."

"Then perhaps Miss Harper herself is waiting for the next clue?"

"That is a possibility, but for nearly a month? What motive does the culprit have in disappearing so suddenly and for such an unexpectedly long period of time? Does the culprit wish to catch our lady off-guard? Or has there been a change of mind in this pursuit of her? No, my dear Dawson. This case speaks of some nefarious plot that someone has planned for Miss Harper that may very well put her life at stake."

The thought of any danger finding its way to the lonely young lady stirred a sense of urgency within me, and I stared at my friend, startled. "Is it bad as all that?"

"She has unwittingly made herself many enemies over the years," spoke Basil in a quiet voice. "Some more dangerous than others. You may wonder where I have been spending my spare time these last few weeks. I have been gathering more information about Miss Harper and learned a few interesting facts about the lady. Her work and research have aided Mouseland Yard in solving many cases, and her meticulous dioramas in particular have played an essential role in resolving cases that would otherwise remain unsolved. She has indirectly placed a good number of criminal offenders behind bars...save one, and it is my greatest fear that he is the one pursuing Miss Harper."

"Of whom do you speak of, Basil?"

"Vincent Ainsworth, the murderer, thief, and forger. He's a young lad - no more than a handful of years older than Miss Harper, I believe - and is in possession of a most remarkable lineage, for his grandfather was one of the royal family; eleventh in line to the throne and her majesty's favourite cousin. Ainsworth was educated at Rodentia and graduated with much prestige. He has a cunning brain and rapier wit, and he is always one step ahead of law enforcement. One week he'd have committed some act of depravity in Wales, and raising money in Scotland for a charitable cause the next, just to cover his trail. The man's wily, Dawson, and was Professor Ratigan's star pupil of crime."

"Why do you believe this Ainsworth fellow is indeed the reason behind Miss Harper's unease?"

"Because, Dawson," my friend replied quietly as he struck a match with which to light his pipe, "approximately six years ago, our fair client was commissioned by Mouseland Yard to construct a most remarkable diorama of a section of London in an attempt to piece together a string of seemingly unrelated yet peculiar events. Miss Harper, whom I'm certain was barely starting her work in this field, was most likely very eager to please, and did as requested by piecing together a most impressive diorama indeed, which is now on display in the Rodentia Science museum. In the end, with her work and keen observation, the Yard was able to prevent what could have been one of the largest bank heist in Mousedom history."

"Great Scot..." I murmured.

"Quite so," Basil remarked thoughtfully between puffs of smoke, tossing aside the lighted match. "As a result, the Yard managed to round up the part of Ratigan's crime ring that was involved, save for one. Vincent, who most likely foresaw this capture, escaped the country, and has remained relatively quiet...until now. He has a motive, Dawson...of that I do not doubt. Yet it is not to frighten Miss Harper, for he would not benefit from her silence. Not now. No, his motives are darker, driven by vengence. ...and yet this silence! This baffling silence!"

With one sweep of his arm, he toppled over the pile of papers that had been tossed carelessly on one chair, sending them scattering to the floor. Casually stepping over them, he then walked over to the window and stared out at the damp London street outside. "As carpenters cannot build houses on air, I cannot build a case on mere supposition. And yet, Dawson, if this case does result in the capture of Vincent Ainsworth, it will be another high point in my career."

I made to reply, although the alarmed cries of Mrs. Judson caught my attention. "What in heavens name!" I heard her exclaim, and as I turned around, I soon saw what the cause was behind the commotion: the pile of papers Basil had upsetted was now alit in flames from the lighted match he had tossed aside only moments before.

"Oh! My seat cushions!" Dashing past me with such speed that was unexpected of her, Mrs. Judson raced to rescue her precious cushions from the flames, all of which she recently had restuffed.

I also scrambled to help the dear lady, although Basil, with remarkable agility, took off his dressing gown, and in one sweeping movement of his arm, flung the garment atop of the flames, extinguishing the fire in the blink of an eye. As I gaped in astonishment, my friend casually tossed the dressing gown across the back of his favourite chair and calmly smoothed back from his face the few strands of his fur that had been tousled in the mad rush.

"...m-m-my...my cushions!" cried Mrs. Judson in distress as she took in the damage. While the cushions themselves were not entirely lost, the upholstery that covered a few of them were charred black from the flames. She then shot my friend an icy glare. "Mr. Basil! How many times have I told you not to leave your papers lying about the--"

"There, there, Mrs. Judson," reassured my friend as he swiftly draped the shawl she had dropped moments ago back around her shoulders, "everything is alright now. And do not trouble yourself over dinner for Dawson and I. We shall be out to-night."

"But I--I--I--" stammered the bewildered woman, helplessly allowing Basil to usher her into his chair by the hearth.

"Good evening, Mrs. Judson," he continued, drawing on his coat as I followed closely behind, and promptly closing the door of our residence behind him before she could say much more. "There is only one individual who can provide us with any insight into this matter," resumed Basil as he led me around the corner. Dusk was settling in all over London now, and the workers busied themselves as they lit the street lamps to prepare for the evening. "Hiram Flaversham."

I smiled at the thought, for it has been five years since Basil and I have visited Hiram and his daughter. "Are we going there now?"

"All in good time, Dawson. There is but one more stop that we have to make before we make our way over to the good toymaker's shop. We need the one piece of evidence that only Miss Harper can provide."


End file.
